


hallways, homos, and hallmark movie moments

by carryyourownbanner



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, Grantaire Is Bad At Feelings, High School AU, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Party Games, Pre-Relationship, Sleepover AU, Truth or Dare, cheesy boys being cheesy, come get y’all a juice, enjolras is a bitch but we love him, except for azelma and cosette, or at least grantaire does, so is Enjolras, they’re all seniors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21505717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryyourownbanner/pseuds/carryyourownbanner
Summary: grantaire asked enjolras out a few weeks ago.yeah, enjolras could’ve handled that better.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire
Comments: 1
Kudos: 91





	hallways, homos, and hallmark movie moments

“Enjolras- hey, Ange- thoughts on truth or dare?”

Enjolras looks up from the notes he’s actually trying to take for once in this class. More often than not, he relies on the fact that the teacher likes him, and passes the class with an easy A anyway. Sometimes, though, he prefers to keep busy. Courfeyrac doesn’t seem to share this sentiment.

“What?”

“The ga-“

“I know it’s a game,” he returns quickly. “I just- what does it matter?”

“Tonight, remember? I figured we’d play. I like stupid games like that, anyway.”

“Mhm.” He turns back to the page.

“Enjolras?”

“Yes?”

“I figure- I should probably give you a fair warning.”

“What? Is your basement flooded again?”

Courfeyrac frowns. “What? No, that was Bahorel’s- Ange, listen to me for a sec. I know you don’t find that citations worksheet that interesting.”

He groans. “You’re not wrong. What is it?”

“I invited R.”

A pause, which he spends staring at the margins of the worksheet. 

“Why?”

“Get over it, will you? Just because you’re-“

“Do you value your kneecaps?”

“-in the middle of an angry gay crisis-“

“Courf.”

“-doesn’t mean you have to avoid him. You used to be on decent terms.”

He hums noncommittally.

“He likes you. If you still think he asked you out to- I don’t know, make fun of you?- you’re wrong. And you like him too.”

“Do I?”

“Boys?” the teacher says, from her desk right by Enjolras’s. “What are you supposed to be working on?”

Enjolras shoots Courfeyrac a glare and hides once again in his work.

The latter rolls his eyes. “Just helping a bröski out with boy problems, ma’am.”

“Try answering the problems on your sheet instead.”

“What sheet?”

“Enjolras, help him.”

He lets his head fall hard onto the table.

———

Enjolras hasn’t quite recovered from the impact three hours later. At least, he thinks that’s why his head’s spinning- or maybe it’s just an excuse he slaps onto it later when he gets to Courfeyrac’s and another early arrival, Combeferre, asks why he’s so out of it.

“I mean- he can be a bit aggravating, but I have to know what he said that made you hit your head that hard,” he says, about Courfeyrac, much to Enjolras’s chagrin.

“Just talking about tonight. I was trying to do my work.”

“In English?” he asks, incredulously. “You’d be grateful to have an excuse to get out of work in there.”

“Talking about party games isn’t exactly a good enough excuse.”

“Says who?” says Musichetta, slinging an arm around Enjolras’s shoulders. He won’t wince. He won’t wince. “It’s... it’s your last block, right? Nothing matters by eighth block.”

Enjolras huffs. “My head probably hurts because I don’t drink water, or because I have a paper due on Wednesday that I could be working on instead of standing here and- wait, where’s Marius?”

Combeferre is almost always his ride. 

“Ah, he couldn’t make it. ‘Zelma and ‘Ponine’ll be here soon, though- my boys are downstairs with Courf already.”

“And Cosette?”

“She stopped for sweets,” Musichetta supplies. Enjolras rolls his eyes. “What? You two are the only ones with a sweet tooth, so be grateful. S-M-H my head.”

“It’s just S-M-H.”

“Enjolras, you didn’t know what a meme was until last year. Quiet.”

He obeys.

He keeps checking the time on his phone every five seconds and around 6:30- the time they were actually supposed to be there- the rest arrive. Cosette, with two grocery bags full of cookies and chocolates, shows up at 6:31, and apologizes for being late (much to Musichetta’s amusement), and Éponine, Azelma, and Grantaire arrive between five and ten minutes later.

“Vibe check!” Éponine shouts as she enters, her brunette sister in tow. 

“Enjolras’s vibes are rancid tonight,” Musichetta informs them all before Éponine and Azelma disappear down to the basement, and Enjolras scowls from the kitchen and does not deign to look up at them. “Hey! Ange! Eat all the cheezits and I’ll boil your teeth.”

“Ominous,” he mutters. “Where’d R g-“

“On your left.” Speak of the devil. He goes in to steal a handful of cheezits, and Enjolras is frozen stock still. He glares at Grantaire’s hand, refusing to look up for fear of the others noticing his blush. He can’t stand when they’re right. 

“Hello to you, too.”

“I didn’t think you wanted...”

He takes the box and walks away before Grantaire can finish, taking great care to distance himself from Grantaire, who, being taller than Enjolras, is invisible as long as he looks down. And he does, until he leaves the room, fixing Cosette with a desperate stare. She takes his arm. 

“We’ll be downstairs, so you boys can join us... whenever,” Cosette says, and Enjolras is painfully aware of the fact that the only ‘boys’ to speak of are Combeferre and Grantaire, and they aren’t exactly the closest. They’ll definitely be right behind them.

His hypothesis is correct.

Not a minute later, Courfeyrac is rallying everyone to start a game of truth or dare, and everyone save Enjolras sits down on one of the couches eagerly. Instead, he gingerly takes his place on the empty loveseat.

“Ferre, you can sit right here,” Courfeyrac says, propping himself up on the armrest of the couch he’d been sharing with the Thenardier sisters and patting the spot he’d vacated. And that leaves-

Grantaire sits down right beside Enjolras, whose skin is crawling with something that might be anxiety, might be discomfort- god only knows.

“Alright, alright,” Courfeyrac says, through a mouthful of freshly microwaved pizza rolls. “Let’s start this... Enjolras, truth or dare?”

He ignores the pang of fear in his chest. Ah yes, the horrifying ordeal of being known. 

“Truth.” It seems easier.

“Okay- of the... one, two, four... nine of us here- ten, ten- wait no, nine, not including you, obviously- who would you date?”

Enjolras inhales sharply. He feels a certain someone’s eyes on him, and that doesn’t make things better.

“Uh-“

“We’re looking for honesty here, and if you lie, we’re taking the cheezits.”

“Take the cheezits,” he mutters, but hugs the box close. “Am I allowed to say you?”

“No. Because we all know that’s a lie.”

“Éponine.”

“Eh, shut up. You’re gay as hell,” Éponine retorts.

“So?”

“I- alright. Keep your secrets. It’s your turn, I guess.”

After this first incident, it seems to him that he’s safe. No one dares trifle with the angry twink armed with a box of cheezits. 

Of course, that’s not to say there’s not plenty other shenanigans for him to bear witness too. He can’t count the number of times he’s almost been hit in the head with a random flying object, for a start. Second, he watched Éponine drop an ice cube into her bra and keep a straight face (the raw power), and he bore witness to Courfeyrac snatching Grantaire’s phone and the whole group crowding around it.

This is why Enjolras stuck with truths. 

“Oh my god,” Éponine says, covering her mouth with her hand as she scrolls. “Your search history is a fucking goldmine.”

“What’s on it?” Enjolras asks impulsively, and Grantaire shrinks beside him (despite seeming confident before), while Courfeyrac raises an eyebrow.

“Google searches. Like, if this were a girl’s phone, it’d be the straightest thing-“

Cosette shakes her head and gets up. “Okay, well, now I have to see- ‘how to ask a boy out... again?’”

“Not all of them are straight girl material. You forgot the recent search for ‘blonde twi-‘“

“That’s sixty seconds,” Combeferre says quickly, eyeing Grantaire purposefully. He doesn’t understand, not for a minute, but then-

It makes sense why Combeferre would look at him like he’d done him a huge favor. He passes him his phone back, and Enjolras glances sideways.

“Alright then, Grantaire, your turn again,” Musichetta says, crossing her legs. “Bully Enjolras. He hasn’t gotten picked on enough.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, expectantly facing the brunette with great reluctance.

“Uh-“

“Truth.”

“Aight, then. The question, then, is- did you wear your hair like that on purpose?”

“I’m well aware it’s a mess, Grantaire, this isn’t exactly a formal event-“

“I know. Calm down. Do you know how hot it makes you? That’s the real question.”

Enjolras sees Éponine nod in agreement out of the corner of his eye and he scowls. “Are you seriously doing this again? Now? I’m not answering that.”

“You have to!” Bossuet accuses. 

“No, I don’t?”

“You’re no fun. Pick a different one, Grantaire.”

He frowns, but his eyes light up with an idea. “Uh- do you want to kiss me?”

“Dare.”

“I- what? You can’t just- fine, I dare you to kiss me.”

At least half the room ooh’s at that. Enjolras can’t decided whether the fluster or the annoyance is likely the most prevalent on his face. 

“Uh- never have I ever-“

“That’s not the game,” Grantaire pouts, but he relents. Enjolras, on the other hand, feels worse for the wear.

It only takes four more seconds of awkward silence for Courfeyrac to announce that the game was through. Someone brought out cards against humanity, and the game was forgotten. 

Only Grantaire hasn’t moved.

“You should talk to him,” Courfeyrac urges. “He probably feels like shit for trying to coerce you like that-“

“As he should. If I were a girl-“

“Don’t go on about it, Ange. Give him a chance to apologize, at least. Maybe to explain about before, too.”

Enjolras can’t deny the logic in that. And, somehow, confronting him seems less intimidating when everyone’s distracted, no one’s watching... and it’s Grantaire. He’s... chill. He’d pass a vibe check.

Maybe not at the moment, though. He’s nervous, and Enjolras can tell because the moment he sees him coming, he starts rambling.

“Ange- Enjolras, look, I know you’re here to yell at me about the game, and I’m sorry I made you so uncomfortable.”

“Grantaire.”

“And then there’s before- while I kinda get it, ignoring me completely was kinda extreme-“

“Aire,” he says, with as easy a tone as he can muster. “I’m not here to yell at you.”

“Oh? How about ‘talk loud and angrily’ in my general direction?”

“I- no? Grantaire, please listen.”

“I’m all-fuckin’-ears.”

“I may have- overreacted about the... thing.”

“Which thing?”

“The you-asking-me-out thing.”

“Oh? That just felt like Enjolras level reacting to me, honestly. I one-hundred percent saw it coming, don’t even worry about it. I’d’ve been better off going for the dead cricket on the ground outside of Bauer’s class.”

Enjolras finds himself smiling at that, and Grantaire looks more taken aback than ever. 

“Does he Laugh? Does he Laugh at my joke? I’m honored.”

“He smiles at your joke. R, it’s not that I don’t like you.”

“Just not like that-“

“Can I finish?”

“Yes, sir. Christ.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s that you scared the shit out of me. And it was in the middle of the hall, in the middle of the day, and maybe nobody heard you but I felt so much pressure to say yes- and I didn’t want to say no, either.”

“But you did,” Grantaire points out.

“I... I did, yeah. Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t mean it?”

“I dunno, Ange. It was pretty decisive.”

He frowns, trying to ignore the way his stomach churns. He’s never broken a heart before, what if Grantaire hates him, what if he wants his space, or maybe the whole thing was actually a joke, and Enjolras was right, and he was about to get insulted a second time-

“Apollo. Ange, look at me. You good?”

“Fine. Do- do you really not believe me?”

Grantaire stares at him, and he blinks, and for a minute Enjolras wonders if he’s being mocked. Then he smiles, and he shakes his head, and it looks far too warm to be borne of a joke so cruel.

“Of course I believe you. I’m sorry I have horrible timing, Enjolras. I’ve really- I’ve missed you, these past two weeks.”

“They’ve been a slice of hell, yeah. Like I didn’t notice you were there until you were suddenly really, really there, and then you weren’t at all.”

“I’m flattered.”

“No, really,” he reiterates. “Like how your hair’s so fluffy and how your eyes are so fucking blue it’s ridiculous. I probably saw it, but I know for sure I didn’t think about it.”

“Funny, I never could seem to not think about you.”

“Never could?”

He chuckles. “I mean, fair,” he says. “Never can.”

“Well...”

“Well?”

“Should we finish the game?”

“I- just us?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

Enjolras leans against him. “Never have I ever kissed a boy.”

Grantaire smiles.

“I think I can give you that one.”


End file.
